A Story About Society

I made a thing from a thing!

Once upon a time, I lived in a place where Exclusion existed. You see, nobody seems particularly fond of us Nekojin. I, like many of my siblings and even cousins were condemned to live on the outskirts of society. We were a feral bunch. We had to be in order to survive. Despite the fact that many of us worked together for survival, there was still lots of fighting for the few resources we did manage to secure.

Eventually the violence got so bad that the time of Segregation reined down upon us. We were offered a separate community and given some resources that we could all share, but the things we were given weren’t of the best quality. In fact, some of the stuff was already spoiled rotten once we received it. This was a time of lots of name-calling and slurs, all from the people. Just because we had ears on the tops of our heads and fluffy tails, we got treated as not human.

After years of protesting, I guess the people finally got tired of hearing our constant whining. I mean, who can blame them, some of us do sound like dying cats in the heat of an August night. We were so happy that the Age of Inclusion was upon us that we didn’t notice that the only thing that really changed was that the people simply surrounded our encampment, and walled us inside with tall, ugly walls. But at least the food and treats were of better quality. I mean, I get it. Nobody really wants to smell rancid cans of tuna and spoiled milk everyday, all day. At least the dreadful off-key singing subsided so now I can get some of my daily afternoon catnaps in.

But a few months ago, I guess people got tired of seeing the ugly cement walls, plastered with graffiti, and so they tore the walls down and openly invited us Nekojin into the town with Integration on their hearts. I’ll admit that I’m having the time of my life. We’re finally invited to all the parties. Fresh sushi, and actual frothy, cold creme arrives on silver platters. All because some of us get distracted by pretty red lights, or those stupid balls of string. I happen to fancy the really shiny stuff though. Who would have thought that there were so many things made of the color shiny in the world?

Mike, why he adopted the name of Mike, I don’t know, but he was a good friend of mine. He liked the typical things most of Nekojin enjoy. Lots of belly rubs, head pats, and of course lots of toys to play with. But he had one odd peculiarity. He had a fondness for spicy food. And Jalapenos were considered too mild for his tastes. Anyway, I digress. He had an insatiable curiosity, and was always trying out new things. Including this brown stuff that the people really marveled about. So against our recommendation to have this brown stuff tested beforehand, he went ahead and ate some of it. He had a similar response to the way other people do when consuming it. He said it was sweet and creamy, and was going to look for more of it. But Mike never got the chance to even ask what this stuff was called because, Oh no, Mike is dead!

The poison was ruled as the official cause of death for Mike. Us Nekojin know better than to trust anything that’s brown in color. Even if it is supposedly sweet and creamy. Just the color of something that’s brown tells me that it’s spoiled rotten and isn’t really good for you. Lot’s of nice things were said at Mike’s funeral. How he was always the first one to try something different, and how despite how much practicing he did, his singing was always in the key of B-flat. I told him he should have tried singing more Gospel tunes, but he preferred the likes of Metallica.

The day after the wake, we all piled into a transport vehicle to say our final words to Mike at the Cemetery. Some new girls I’d never seen before balled their eyes out. I guess they needed some Dry Eyes. Where’s Ben Stein when you need him? Anyway, the service lasted several hours. Apparently, Mike knew a lot of people. Both people and Nekojin, actually. Maybe there is something to eating Jalapenos? I’d rather not have to live with Acid Ass though. But to continue, the ceremony lasted all day long and into the evening.

It was beginning to get dark outside and most of the people had already gone about their day’s routine. Everybody except this guy, Murray. I stayed to chat with him a bit. Turns out, he knows quite a bit about urban legends, and has quite an arsenal of scary stories. Perfect for those nights around a campfire in the middle of nowhere and all you hear is the sound of wood cracking, the roar of the fire as it consumes it’s food, and the occasional cricket. Before I knew it, I was at the Cemetery at night. There was only Murray, the caretaker left, standing around this open pit with Mike’s dead body nearby, and myself, not taking the hint to leave already. I had said good night to Murray and started the long walk home—the transport vehicle had long since left me behind. Typical for my life.

I was nearly out of earshot range, when I heard Murray say “WTF?” I turned back around to stare. I thought everybody else had gone. I certainly didn’t see anybody else besides Murray in the cemetery. I decided to press my luck. Maybe Murray was actually reliving one of those urban legends he was telling me about. You know, to have one final laugh before retiring to bed tonight.

I ran back towards the cemetery. There had to be other people there. I heard it too. The moaning, the soft roaring, the breaking and tearing of fresh grass. Murray had found a flashlight and shined it all around. To our surprise and amazement, we discovered that The dead are rising! I was feeling sick to my stomach. My intuition told me to run away. I found myself following that very primal instruction. One foot in front of the other at top speed carried me away from the spot I had just been standing in.

I glanced back when I felt I had achieved a safe distance, only to find to my horror that Murray was still standing there. His gaze locked onto what was before him. The entire cemetery, It’s full of zombies! “Run away Murray!”, I screamed at him. I forced myself to turn back around to face him, and start running back towards him. Perhaps Murray was paralyzed with fear. I mean, it’s not everyday that the entire cemetery that you’ve taken care of for over a decade just becomes completely overrun with zombies. Right?

I stopped about twenty feet from the entrance of the cemetery. I was already too late to save poor Murray. The zombie army had already completely surrounded Murray. He was trapped. There was only one thing I could say. “Noooooo!”. Time to run away!

Forget these zombies, and the dead that have risen. Who cares about WTF, and the fact that this is the cemetery at night. Murray was left alone, well, kind of, I mean I was with him up until the end! But forget this stupid cemetery anyway. And all because Mike decided to have his stupid funeral. Why oh why, did you have to eat that brown creamy sweetness, Mike? I don’t care about integration, or even inclusion anymore. Segregation was probably okay for a while because none of this crap would have happened tonight. We, us Nekojin would have been better off living in just plain exclusion after all!